


He Had a Bad Day

by anastasiabeaverhousen (Anastasia_Beaverhousen)



Series: Just Lucky, I Guess [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:27:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28718037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anastasia_Beaverhousen/pseuds/anastasiabeaverhousen
Summary: Sometimes everything goes wrong. Sometimes it's even our own fault.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Minor Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell - Relationship
Series: Just Lucky, I Guess [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2105124
Comments: 9
Kudos: 48





	He Had a Bad Day

Jaime Lannister was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, utterly wretched day. 

First. He woke up with a hangover. A Tyrion-level hangover, which made sense, since Tyrion caused the hangover. After the fight, Brienne had left, which made sense, because he wouldn't have wanted to be around him either. So he called his brother, who oh so helpfully came over with a full crystal decanter of a thick, dark and bitterly delicious liquor. Tyrion had tried to help him drown his sorrows, and it worked. To a given degree of working, it worked. He forgot what a douchebag he was for a few hours before he passed out to blessed oblivion. Tyrion must have seen himself out.

Then, his alarm clock blared like a klaxon and he struggled to get up. Work. He was a fucking professional and wouldn't let something this interfere with his work. He might have a trust fund and not need to work, but he NEEDED to work, to show he wasn't like the rest of them, he could earn his own way. So he would go to work. 

He called her first, before stepping into his car. She ignored his call. Fine, then. He didn't want to talk to her anyway. He had very important things to do that day. He went to work. 

And work was bad. And by bad, he meant nobody would talk to him bad. Catelyn narrowed her eyes when he got in but didn't say a word. Margaery gave him her best sticky sweet floral smile that he knew very well was not a smile at all. And, worst of all, he was assigned to Tarley. 

Tarley in and of himself was the definition of inoffensive, but today would be unbearable. Today Tarley had to testify before the Conclave Subcomittee on the new Grayscale Vaccine. Today, of all cotton-mouthed, head pounding days, he had to listening to idiot politicians blather on and on while maintaining his protection. He spent all day guarding Maester Samwell Tarley while the genial scientist huffed and puffed an explanation to besuited politicians. Mstr. Tarley, with more good nature than Jaime could have summoned in a life time, answered their ridiculous questions with patience and aplomb. Over and over he explained that no, the vaccine was not Yi-Tish treachery designed to render everyone in Westeros impotent or sterile, that no, the vaccine was not microchipped, that no, it didn't change DNA, no, no, no. By the end of the day the good maester was so exhausted that his florid face was dripping with sweat and Jaime, underneath his expressionless exterior, very much wanted to beat the shit out of each and every one of the puffed up self important politicians seeking soundbites. 

But no. They had concluded for the day, and Jaime had ushered Samwell Tarley into the nondescript black sedan and drove him to his hotel. Tarley jabbered all the way to the hotel, and Jaime, usually a gregarious sort himself when he could be, just grit his teeth and bore it. Sandor was standing outside, waiting to take the night shift, and the two men exchanged brief nods. Tarley tried to thank Jaime, speaking over his shoulder as he went, but Sandor soon ushered him into the hotel. 

Jaime got back into the car and pulled out. Speaking quietly into his com, Headquarters formally relieved him of duty for the day. For the first time all day he breathed a deep sigh and let his chin fall to his chest. With nothing else to distract him, he considered the next, and far more important, item on his shitty agenda.

He picked up his phone, before he could think twice, and called her. She didn't answer. 

He knew what he had to do. He had to apologize. To Brienne.

He hated apologizing. Even to Brienne. Fuck, especially to Brienne. Even when she deserved it. Even when he had been a massive tool, even when he had compared her to Cersei- no, he hadn't compared her to Cersei, he had just mentioned Cersei in passing, and it wasn't his fault if she got her hackles raised, he could mention Cersei, it was completely and totally possible for him to say the word "Cersei" without being condemned as a pariah, he- 

Shit. 

He had fucking compared her to Cersei. 

He had as much as told her she was worse than Cersei. Worse. Than. Cersei. 

Fuck. 

He hadn't meant to. He was already in a bad place- Catelyn had unjustly reamed him out for the pear-shaped Mormont deal, and Brienne was taking her side, which meant Catelyn was probably right, but that didn't justify it. He hadn't meant to invoke Her but he did. He compared the kindest, best woman he had ever known to his succubus of a stepsister and former lover, exquisitely evil she-beast that she was. He hadn't meant to bark out that she was acting just like Cersei, but at least Cersei had occasionally taken his side, when all she was trying to do was assert herself and explain that maybe Catelyn had a point. He hadn't meant to throw that barb, he was just tired and pissed off and when he felt that wave of rage he just lashed out. . . and he crossed a line. 

He knew what Cersei had done to her when she found out about their relationship. Brienne, so strong and fierce, had overcome so much, but Cersei Hill had made her suffer deeply for loving him. He knew it, he knew invoking her name would wound, and he did it anyway. 

He hit hard and he hit dirty, in the best Lannister fashion. 

He knew the blow had struck when he saw her face, her eyes huge and blue in a face blanched of color. She just stepped back as if she was slapped, and turned around to walk out He had tried to stop her, reached out a hand to take her shoulder, but she shrugged him off and walked into their room, closing the door quietly behind her. She came out a few moments later with an inscrutable expression and a full duffel bag and left without saying a word. 

He called with fulsome apologies. He texted her what an idiot he had been. He called again. She did not respond. He decided to give her some space, so he called Tyrion instead and left her alone.

She hadn't spoken to him since. He had called again, he had texted again, he had even gone so far as contacting Sansa and Margaery- and wasn't THAT a fun conversation- but gleaned not a drop of information. The two had taken turns telling him just what an asswipe he was, so he knew Brienne had told them about the fight, but they refused to divulge her location. 

"She's a grown woman, Lannister," Sansa, who had more reason than most to despise Cersei, finally told him. "Even if she is still tender sometimes, she's a grown woman and she can go and do what she wants to. If she doesn't want to talk to you, you can't force her. Leave her alone." 

So he did, calling Tyrion instead. 

He shook his head, pulling himself out of his reverie. He parked the car and sat in the dark parking deck for a few moments. He called her again. No answer.

He sighed and greeted the doorman and took the elevator up to their floor. He held his hand up to the apartment door, almost like feeling for heat- then ground his teeth and keyed in the code. He was not a coward. He might be an asshole, but he wasn't a coward. 

"Brienne?" he called softly, and was met with silence. After a moment there was a sound in the back. He deflated when he saw it was just Honor and Glory padded out to greet him. His sweet Glory wound herself around his ankles, while Honor hopped atop the coffee table and regarded him disdainfully. He looked into the honey colored eyes before the cat sniffed and looked away. Jaime suspected the slight had not been imagined. 

He waited a bit, then went into their bedroom. At first glance, the room looked exactly the same as it had that morning. He studied a bit longer, though, turning a professional gaze on the space, and noticed that her top left drawer was slightly askew. It hadn't been that way this morning. He stepped into their closet. Her suits, usually arranged just so, showed a gap where a couple of indistinguishable black suits might have been. It hadn't been so this morning. 

She had come back to the apartment at some time during the day. She had come back, and she had left again. 

"Well, shit." Pulling off his tie, he dropped it to the floor. Nobody would be there to complain about it tonight. Stepping out of his suit, he let the fine fabric puddle to the floor. Clad in just his smallclothes he pulled on an old KLU shirt and a pair of soft gray sweats. Making his way to the kitchen he opened a beer and sat on their oversized sofa. Glory happily plopped herself down on his lap, and he absentmindedly stroked the fat gray cat as he thumbed through the channels on the television. Honor sat on the table a bit away and studied him through narrowed eyes. 

Jaime sighed and picked up his phone again. Fully not expecting an answer he hit her number again, and sat back, taking a deep pull of the beer. 

It rang and rang, and he was about to hang up when she answered.


End file.
